


In The Empire Of Thy Heart (Where I Should Solely Be)

by RosalieBlack



Category: Anne of Green Gables (TV 1985) & Related Fandoms, Anne of Green Gables - L. M. Montgomery, Anne with an E (TV)
Genre: Consensual Sex, Emotional Hurt/Comfort, Enthusiastic Consent, Established Relationship, F/M, Fluff and Smut, How Do I Tag, Light Angst, Married Shirbert, Mentions of Child Loss, Oral Sex, Porn With Plot, Porn with Feelings, Smut, bear with me, does it have a plot, gilbert simps for his wife hundred percent of time, idk - Freeform, it's chaos, no beta we die like women
Language: English
Status: Completed
Published: 2020-11-10
Updated: 2020-11-10
Packaged: 2021-03-09 01:49:04
Rating: Explicit
Warnings: Creator Chose Not To Use Archive Warnings
Chapters: 1
Words: 6,782
Publisher: archiveofourown.org
Story URL: https://archiveofourown.org/works/27366841
Author URL: https://archiveofourown.org/users/RosalieBlack/pseuds/RosalieBlack
Summary: "Oh, he is. Aren’t you, darling?” Her laughter sounds like the most beautiful melody played by nature. She stands tall, his personal Aphrodite, and the doctor’s heart speeds up rapidly, thumping similarly to a thunderstorm inside his chest. When she lays her hand on his cheek, with single playful graze of knee against the thigh she’s able to set the man’s nerves on fire – previous discovery hits hard like a brick, and within seconds he’s hot under his collar, knowing underneath neat mustard skirt Anne is nearly completely naked. “So very quiet.”His mouth goes dry as Gilbert leans into her touch. How dares she!
Relationships: Gilbert Blythe/Anne Shirley
Comments: 12
Kudos: 114





	In The Empire Of Thy Heart (Where I Should Solely Be)

**Author's Note:**

> Title from "My Dear and Only Love" by James Graham

There is a promise in the end of summer. It’s the promise of rest for the farmers and their lands, for trees, vegetables and fruits, and for the chocolate coloured, rufescent soil that gave birth to all of the goods of Avonlea. It’s the promise of rains and pours, cold winds that would shake the barns and sheds, while their owners would hide in safety of respectable homes, with warmth of fireplace gently caressing drowsy hands and feet. This is the promise everyone is awaiting for, on their tiptoes, looking up in the sky with a hopeful smile as the remains of burning hot sunrays hit the ground, force that could compete with a whack on the head from a broken-hearted maid.

Gilbert awaits this promise, too, but for reasons contrasting to the rest of Avonlea townsfolk. First of all, he is not a part of the town anymore. For the second, he’s not a farmer. For him the end of summer holds another promise – that next months will be kinder, for him and his wife. He hopes with the beginning of October Anne would feel better, in body and soul. Childishly, the doctor believes that bundle of golden, brownish, reddish leaves alone will do something he couldn’t have done for months – hearten her enough to light the flame inside the cerulean eyes.

So he waits patiently. During their first week in Avonlea, he helps Bash with the farm and the orchard, spends evenings by the fire, Marilla and Rachel silently discussing with Anne recipes from old cooking books, and accompanies his wife in daily walks to the seashore, even though his enthusiasm for strolls down the hills comes mostly from concern about the redhead’s health. He tries to be as gentle in this unwanted care as possible, but Mrs. Blythe surely knows how to show her annoyance at his behaviour, with much more dramatics than it’s really needed.

_“I’m not an egg to be fussed with!” she shouts at him each and every time he proposes a break from an energetic march towards the woods. “I’m not talking to you, Gilbert Blythe!”_

The doctor would chuckle at those words, reminding himself of first day at school after return from Alberta, how he has been completely beguiled by fiery-haired girl. Yet laugh never escapes his throat nor sparks never illuminate hazel eyes. It only brings bittersweet memories, ones he wishes to bury deep down, so that his mind couldn’t reach them in the darkness and then wouldn’t replay ever again. Still there’s a great piece of him holding onto this reminiscence in the fears of forgetting her.

Ten years old Delphine dances in between a myriad of apple trees, fruits like red balls above her head. As soon as the girl sees her uncle, she stops twirling and runs into his arms, letting Gilbert scoop her up. She sings ‘Haul Away Joe’, voice that definitely is the heritage of her beloved mother, Mary. Delphine, seeing Redbeard, the chubby and ever so lazy cat, almost immediately leaves Gilbert's arms to chase the animal and play with him. He would tease her, hiking onto a nearby tree where she can't reach him, only to come to the girl later, and settle on her lap with contended purr. The sight of her angelic and innocently childish face alone makes Gilbert's heart ache for something he was deprived of, even before he managed to get the taste. He can't help but wonders if their child would like to sing, would enjoy the last remains of summer the same way Delphine does now.

The sting inside his chest is almost agonising as the vision of tiny hand wrapping around his middle finger blurs the world far and wide. The doctor can’t nor wants to get rid of images full of paper white, cold skin, stormy eyes and a fluff of chocolate brown hair, followed by flood of memories connected to her first wail. It took him only a few minutes, after the girl’s first call tore through the room full of people holding their breaths in expectation of a cry, to find out that Joy was destined to never see the daylight. There wasn’t a single drop of mistake in his earth-shattering epiphany as Joyce Blythe died – cuddled by him and shielded from the world that could never hurt her anyway – just a quarter before the sunset.

The days following Joy’s passing were his bitter, private fight against universal laws of taking mothers along with their children away from husbands, as he was ready to steal Anne from the Death’s grasp, even if it required him to go straight to Hell for coming up against Providence. Auspiciously, a journey to the Devil’s land wasn’t necessary as Gilbert’s beloved wife recovered a few weeks after labour. At least she convalesced physically.

Brought back to present times, he follows Delphine to the Blythe-Lacroix house, where most of their family gathers for a midday meal. There’s soothing chill inside the hall giving comforting contrast to the heat of day. Raspy voice of Hazel fills the air that smells like his favourite apple pie – the woman argues with Bash and Elijah about something he has a vague idea of. Despite disturbing temperature of the day Gilbert feels warm, fuzzy sensation washing over his body as his heart grows tenfold inside the ribcage. Corners of his mouth wander up while he listens to a friendly banter between Rachel and Bash, the same voices that soothed his and Anne’s aching hearts after Joy had passed away. The house is suddenly filled with laughter followed by kitchen sounds as all women gathered by the table to set it for meal, although the doctor knows exactly who is absent, so he passes by a small crowd chatting in the room and directs his steps upstairs, to his old bedroom.

Feet are guiding him all by themselves as Gilbert reaches the familiar door, and with delicate push opens it to see his beloved redheaded dryad on the armchair near small bed. Anne is too focused on her book to notice his presence in the room, her widened, cerulean eyes follow the text with utmost devotion, and he nearly feels like an intruder in the chapel, daring to disturb her moment of sacrum. But corner of woman’s mouth twitches before the doctor has a chance to inform about his arrival, and Anne bites lower lip bringing Gilbert’s attention to barely noticeably swollen chops. _Just as if she had been delicately biting them all morning; just as if he had been kissing her all morning._ This sight alone makes him gulp as he stays frozen by the door, unable to take his eyes off Anne.

“Have you finished ogling me yet?” she asks with chuckle, leaving an open book of poems on the bedside table. When she stands up he feels as if he’s eighteen again, her cheerful yet seductively suggestive attitude makes him blush like he was caught red handed, so pink creeps onto his cheeks and spreads to the tips of the ears. The redhead sends him the most innocent smile combined with curious stare locked to the man’s face. “Could you help me with my stockings? I think it must have slipped down, and it is absolutely dreadful to bend down in the corset.”

“O-of course” he answers after receiving his voice. The change in Anne’s behaviour allows suspicions to cross his mind – she never asks about help – even in her weakest days after labour did she insist that she was able to take care of herself. However Gilbert could never refuse to attend to her, as filling in his wife’s needs and wished somehow has been sole purpose of the doctor’s life for a while, now.

He bends his knee and grips the hem of a mustard yellow skirt, lifting it high enough to have a better access to the matter of Anne’s inconvenience – in fact, one of the stockings is a little bit loose, but definitely not slipped down. He decides to adjust the bow just a tad when the sudden realisation hits him hard. Given his knowledge of women’s fashion and state of the redhead’s clothing, he knew for sure something has been missing from her garments. Now he’s certain – Anne is not wearing any bloomers. Still on his knees, he lifts up head to meet her eyes, but the woman seems not to be bothered by anything as she cocks her brow at the doctor in a silent challenge. So he takes the next step tracing his fingers from her knee up over the thigh, with each inch his wife’s breath becomes more and more laboured as she grips harder onto layers of the skirt. Gilbert stops to retie the straps of offending stocking, taking his time with forming a nice bow, while hot breath leaving his mouth tingles pale skin until goosebumps appear on the smooth surface. The doctor places few pecks above the hem of stocking, trailing his lips up, but nowhere close to say that he’s too forward with his affections. Nevertheless he has to put much more self-control into his actions than he would like to; it takes almost everything not to push the woman back on the bed, and then spend sweet eternity worshipping her gorgeous body. Dainty hand on his shoulder stops him, even though Anne’s hips chase his mouth when he breaks the contact with her inner thigh.

“We should go and eat something” she suggests with raspy voice and lips red from the abuse of teeth, one hand constantly grips the hem of mustard skirt.

“Whatever you wish, darling” he responds automatically, getting up from his knees. Gilbert scans Anne’s eyes for a while, her irises are barely visible covered by widened and shimmering black pupils. The redhead smiles brightly and leans in, leaving a chaste kiss onto the man’s lips.

“Meet me in the Ruins, at midnight.”

With this final request she leaves him alone and confused in his childhood bedroom. The doctor still tries to understand the change that occurred, but it seems that either incoming autumn or a week in Avonlea managed to do the impossible – his beloved wife is coming back close to her old self, as close as she can, because he knows they will never be the same again.

Gilbert goes back downstairs, where all of their loved ones are gathered by the table, as he tries not to embarrass himself in front of everyone. He refuses to think about Anne’s satin and milky skin for as long as he can’t hide in the darkest corner of the house. His body works autonomically, far away from the clouded brain, it guides him to the seat reserved for the man, just between Bash and Anne. The doctor sinks down heavily onto a chair, barely registering voices around him as he focuses on Anne and Anne only. The smell of her violet soap attacks his senses immediately when she leans in to Gilbert, unexpected grip of her petite hand on his thigh causes breath to stuck inside the man’s throat while blood whirlwinds through his veins. They’re in the kitchen, where everyone can spot the difference in the pair’s behaviour, yet Anne’s fingers travel nonchalantly up and down over Gilbert’s leg nearing just a tad his groin, the wooden table provides them with a bare minimum of cover. Suddenly the redhead volunteers to help Marilla and Hazel, leaving him craving for his wife, already missing her touch.

“It’s going to rain tomorrow” Rachel says helping herself with first portion of crab callaloo. “I’ve spoken to good ol’ Mr. MacMillan just today’s morning. He said his knees have been aching for a week, now. It must be for rain, that’s what he told me.”

The older woman gives Gilbert pointed gaze, as if she expects him to join the conversation, and the man helplessly looks around in search for Anne. He’s too lost inside the depths of his daydream to keep up with small talk that has been started by Mrs. Lynde.

“U-uh, yeah, I suppose so” he stutters with a hope to satisfy Rachel’s need of audience. The woman furrows her grey, dense brows at the doctor, but then her attention quickly turns to Hazel, who starts quite feverish exchange of words about this year’s plums with Marilla, and Mrs. Lynde leaves him be before she has a chance to speak her mind about his unusual behaviour.

“You’re incredibly quiet today, doc” Even though for a second Gilbert thinks he’s moderately safe, Bash doesn’t mean to lose the occasion of teasing him mercilessly. As if it’s not enough, Anne appears right next to him to support his brother.

“Oh, he is. Aren’t you, darling?” Her laughter sounds like the most beautiful melody played by nature. She stands tall, his personal Aphrodite, and the doctor’s heart speeds up rapidly, thumping similarly to a thunderstorm inside his chest. When she lays her hand on his cheek, with single playful graze of knee against the thigh she’s able to set the man’s nerves on fire – previous discovery hits hard like a brick, and within seconds he’s hot under his collar, knowing underneath neat mustard skirt Anne is nearly completely naked. “So very quiet.”

His mouth goes dry as Gilbert leans into her touch. _How dares she!_

He’s vaguely aware of the rest of meal as his gaze shifts nervously between Anne and the clock; he’s silently counting hours until midnight.

 _Eight._ After finishing their meal his mischievous wife slaps the doctor’s bottom when they’re alone in the hall, causing him to almost drop the cup full of tea.

 _Five._ When no one’s watching Anne puts index finger into her mouth and sucks as she uses the other hand to fidget with buttons of her blouse. Gilbert is sure he’s going to die tonight.

 _Two._ The redhead undresses in front of him as the whole house falls asleep. Even though he can’t touch her yet, he feels his trousers are getting painfully tight already.

When Anne gets up and tells him to stay in the bed, the man barely registers her demand. His heart beats completely out of regular rhythm as he’s silently counting minutes to follow the redhead to the Ruins. Somewhere in the back of his head he thinks he could take care of business here, in the bed, and join Anne less embarrassingly worked up, but he doesn’t want to – it’s a team work, and they’re the team. However he does cheat just a little, when he’s clearly not following his wife’s instructions as he shots up from the bed ten minutes earlier than he should. He just can’t help himself.

As soon as he’s out of the house, Gilbert sets nearly running tempo of the march towards the Ruins. By all means, it is not a pleasant walk as a wave of memories rushes over him, the heartbreak he endured in age of eighteen seems to be a wee sting in comparison to what he has been through five months ago, but it still hurts, when he’s thinking he could have lost his chance with Anne forever. He messed up badly that night after the exams, and thankfully to dear Mrs. Diana Wright nee Barry had some time to fix everything a few weeks later. Now, he recreates his steps to the place he has been avoiding for so long, it’s just like a journey to the past where hopefully he can get his katharsis. Perhaps this is the exact kind of closure both, Gilbert and Anne, need at the moment.

In the dusty moonlight the man has an impression of being a thief slithering around in relentless search for something luxurious. Mayhap there is a slight resemblance of embezzlement in his actions, as he desperately fights against the abysmal night to grasp as much time with his wife as possible. Almost absolute darkness allows him to see faint luminescence of the fire. Gilbert reaches the Ruins just in time to spot Anne nesting her place on the blanket, her hair twisted in long braid glows all shades of erubescent, blends well with worn out red plaid jacket he used to wear as a boy. The doctor approaches the redhead carefully, as if she’s a forest dryad that may be easily scared off. He wants to let her know about his presence, but all of the words get caught inside his mouth, and he stares at her, dumbfounded.

“Ah, sit down, Gil” she stretches her hand up to him, and soon he’s joining her on the blanket, close to fire that warms him up enough to allow him to take off his Sunday jacket. “Did you enjoy your walk here, dear?”

“I did” He lies bluntly, but Anne doesn’t seem to notice what’s obvious. The woman probably doesn’t even remember the one night in the Ruins that left them both broken-hearted. “And I can see you’re certainly enjoying tonight.”

“This place doesn’t bring pleasant memories, does it?” The redhead whispers, and her cerulean eyes are penetrating his layers, reaching the very depths of wounded soul. Suddenly the man feels as if he is an open book, one of those his wife loves so much, and she’s reading him over and over again, even though the woman knows his pages by heart. Gilbert finds comfort in knowledge, that despite crumbling cover and ragged paper with hardly visible letters he still will be her favourite book. “Perhaps we can remove a spell from the Ruins now…”

The redhead brings their lips together in searing kiss that sends sparks down Gilbert’s spine. The man follows her blindly, and slips in hands under the red plaid jacket, wrapping his arms around woman’s waist. He wants— needs her closer, so the doctor tries to pull Anne onto his lap, until she giggles and whacks him in the arm with a book, causing the man to break kiss. Teasing smirk flashes on her slightly swollen lips, as questions from the back of his mind start spinning relentlessly through the head. The internal struggle must be visible, because Anne puts hand on his cheek in soothing gesture, and Gilbert intuitively leans in to her touch.

“Something’s on your mind, doctor.” Melodical voice rings in his ears. “Care to enlighten me a little bit?”

“This,” he gestures vaguely, trying to find proper words describing sudden change of Anne’s behaviour. “All of this, what does that mean, Anne?”

“I’ve been thinking,” she starts, taking a deep breath to form what she’s about to say. They haven’t addressed this matter before, and the woman is not sure tonight is the right time to speak from the bottom of her heart. “I know we won’t have what we had before Joy, not anymore. But I don’t want to be scared every time we make love that it will happen again. I want to be free from all of what ifs, I want to be able to cherish you the way you deserve it.” Before Gilbert has a chance to open his mouth, and loudly protest, telling that he’s completely content with their current relationship, Anne presses fingers to his lips, silencing him. “That doesn’t necessarily means today, but I would like to try again, love.”

This is far from what he expected to hear tonight, but it is also the greatest thing he has heard recently. Thin streams of silent tears fall from under closed eyelids, and soon he feels warm thumbs gently wiping them away, it feels like they’re the closest to each other, closer than ever before. The redhead presses her lips all over Gilbert’s face, replacing tears with featherlike kisses. Her hands drop from face to his collar, as Anne smooths wrinkles on the man’s shirt.

“So, did you tease me half of the day just to make us seat by the fire for the rest of night?” The doctor says, receiving his voice. It’s obvious between them that the topic is not finished yet, but neither wants to continue when they have waited so long for this moment.

“Actually, I had a little competition planned.” The redhead chuckles lightly, freeing herself from her husband’s embrace, and reaching for the forgotten book. “Do you remember this?”

“It’s the runes book I bought you in Toronto.” Finally, Gilbert manages to see the title correctly – _The Book of Runes_ – and a soft, tender smile brightens his features. Anne’s pure joy when she was given that guide is definitely something worth remembering, and the man’s heart skips a beat at the memory of how she thanked him later.

“What would you say for a contest who can guess most of runes? One will write on the other’s body, and the other have to guess which rune it is.” The redhead explains, taking off his former jacket, but the doctor is too busy watching as her flimsy nightgown exposes the woman’s neck and decolletage. Nevertheless his competitive side can’t say no to a small challenge, so he follows his wife’s lead, and lets her start.

The first ones are easy to guess, they go one for one, and have the same amount of points for correctly guessing Anglo-Saxon runes. The touch of Anne’s fingers on different parts of his bare skin is quite distracting, Gilbert does whatever he can to win. Within minutes of purely academic competition they both are getting more and more worked up, as they find the most creative places to put invisible sign on. The book wanders from hands to hands, while their fingers graze each other skins with medical precision. The doctor hopes to win by finding the most ticklish point on the redhead’s body, but when he settles for particular spot on the woman’s leg she suddenly stops him.

“Not here” she pants. “Higher.”

Gilbert’s hand slips under sheer whiteness of nightgown, as he traces long line over Anne’s inner thigh, her skin is burning, and before the man reaches the apex of her legs goosebumps appear underneath his fingertips. The redhead bites down on swollen rosy lip, and the doctor can swear she grips the book so hard her knuckles are white. He gently squeezes woman’s hip, seeking silent permission, and the redhead shifts a little as if she expects him to move further, but long calloused fingers stay glued to Anne’s hipbone. The doctor thinks he could stay like that forever, stroking his wife’s milky skin, adoring firelight dancing on her freckles, but with time both of them get more and more impatient. It’s just a matter of minutes before they explode.

“I-it’s a _wunjo._ ” As for someone as eloquent as Anne, she’s incredibly parsimonious with using her words.

“And the meaning?” Gilbert knows he has to push certain buttons a bit to make her talk, so he leans down, his mouth hovering over a mound of red, hot breath blending with the heat emanating from the core of her womanhood. “Come on, Anne, you know this one.”

“ _P-pleasure_ ” she stutters, the tone of her voice somewhere between desperate and delirious, it all makes the man’s head spin with lust. The redhead is a vision he wants to preserve in his mind for as long as possible, until he’ll grow old and rusty. He wishes to spend eternity devouring her allure.

“You won, darling. That’s my girl.” Gilbert leaves wet kiss into the junction of her legs, extracting a loud sigh from woman’s lips. Yet he’s nowhere close where she needs him. The book stays forgotten, while Anne fixes herself up to proper sitting position and pulls her husband into a languid kiss, nibbles on his lower lip until mellow gasp leaves his mouth; they can practically feel each other’s hearts racing inside their chests, as they pull away, breathless, with wantonly swollen lips.

“ _I want you to lay back, Gilbert Blythe._ ”

The way she looks him in the eye ensures the doctor that she’s in charge now, so he gives her what she wants without unnecessary questions. Excitement has taken a place inside his body long ago, he’s certain he doesn’t need to tell Anne how much he craves her, because she already knows that. Just one look at language of his desperate body tells her everything. The woman shows some mercy, and frees him out of the woolen cage of his pants and flannel drawers. He would be embarrassed by the way his traitorous cock shows how eager he is for his wife, but Anne’s darkening eyes and a smug smile playing on her face make him forget completely about position they have found themselves in.

Trembling breath leaves his throat as Gilbert reaches to Anne and cups her cheek, his thumb mindlessly outlines shape of the woman’s lips. He’s so lost inside those brilliantly sparkling eyes, counting stars on the cerulean orbs that doesn’t even notice when her hand starts paying curious and tender attention to his testicles. The man truly wants to keep their eyes locked, but at the contrast of her warm touch to crispy air of the night his lids shut rapidly, so he loses the opportunity to see how she cocks her eyebrow at him. Anne is generous with her affections, she uses them with an abundance, as each gesture seems to be a spare part for word. She has her ways with him, tested and steady, those that always work to bring him over the edge at a racing speed, but tonight is different in so many aspects. Tonight she doesn’t want tested and steady, so instead pumping her hand as she always does, she licks up over her favourite vein until she’s gathering leaking liquid, and maps out his slit with the tip of her tongue.

Roaring moan bolting out of Gilbert’s mouth sends a new wave of fire to Anne’s core, where she’s already dripping; _goodness_ , she could come from his sounds alone. He’s so pretty like that, with wrinkled open shirt and pants shoved down just enough to expose his throbbing cock.

“Do you like that, honey?” She has to lick her lips as mouth goes dry at the sight of her husband’s glowing skin. The redhead doesn’t wait for the response, and the doctor seems to be at loss of words, she just ducks her head and takes him in letting wet heat rest on her tongue.

“Oh, God, Anne— Shit!” Gilbert doesn’t finish, as he hisses and clenches his jaw. Anne freezes still, she wants to say something, because it’s been a while since the last time she did it, but with her husband’s dick in her mouth it’s quite difficult. All of sudden he tucks one of copper curls behind her ear as his thumb strokes the woman’s temple sweetly. “It’s alright, just, please, use less teeth, love.”

She hums in response, and needs no further encouragement as she sinks her head down to the shaft. There’s something empowering in the way Gilbert shivers under her touch, she can turn him into molten gold with just as much as a swirl of tongue. Yet Anne doesn’t want more power than she has now; she only wants to show her husband how much she loves him, how much she has missed him while they have been grieving. The man rolls his hips up, and then she knows she has to set up a new pace, which will eventually bring him to bliss.

But for now she wants to savour the feeling, the taste and the sight of her lover.

“Just like that, sweetheart.”

The redhead hollows her cheeks, then sucks putting enough pressure onto pulsating cock to extract another myriad of sounds from Gilbert’s mouth. His hand drops from her hair to shoulder as he squeezes it gently. Anne speeds up the pace, her hands share equal attention between his balls and the shaft until particularly loud groan escapes the man’s lips.

“You have to stop now, I won’t last much longer” he seems to put titanic effort in forming sentences, so the woman pulls away with an obscene _pop_ sound, but never stops working with hands. Gilbert’s cock is nearly borderline purple, glistening from his liquids and her saliva, the lewd sight of him causes her own core to pulse with lustful need. It doesn’t take more than a few pumps of a hand to turn her husband into a pile of bones, as his eyes roll to the back of his head and he shouts his release into the night air.

Anne takes her time with cleaning up as she draws the handkerchief from the pocket of red plaid jacket, but after coming down from his peak the man tugs impatiently onto the redhead’s elbow to pull her into a kiss. Gilbert tastes himself on her and can’t help but hums in pleasure, outlining Anne’s plump red lips with his tongue. She watches him in silent awe, cheeks tinted pink, unruly locks spread over his forehead, soft sigh escaping her mouth as she presses tender pecks across his jaw, going south to finally dip her tongue in his collar bone.

“You’re amazing” they both say at the same time, and laugh wholeheartedly soon after realising it.

“Hey, it’s my turn” Gilbert says, a sly smile plays on his lips. Anne takes his place eagerly, determined to quicken the whole process and feel her husband’s cock inside of her before she’ll lose her mind. “Impatient much, are we?”

“Don’t tease me, Gilbert” she warns him, trying to sound more stern than desperate, but her voice breaks a little when the man pulls her legs apart and chilly night air hits her wetness.

“I didn’t ask you to take off your bloomers in the middle of the day.” He’s contradicting her just for sheer pleasure of seeing her all flushed and worked up to the point where she’ll be writhing on the blanket. The trick doesn’t disappoint, because seconds after a scarlet blush creeps on her face and the column of her neck. It’s a sight to see, especially that he knows on a far south from her cheeks she’s practically dripping.

“The weather was unbearable. _It was hot outside._ ” The redhead sends him serious glare, causing the doctor to chuckle.

“You were _inside_ , Anne.” From in between her thighs he has the best view on all of her features. It’s obvious that little bickering about undergarments is ridiculous given the situation they’re in, but neither wants to stop until the other surrenders, as the competitiveness takes better of them.

“I swear, Gilbert, if you don’t— Ah!”

He takes her by surprise, putting his mouth on her clit when she doesn’t expect it, and licks up long lazy stripe from her slit to the nub, as Anne rakes her hand through chocolate dark curls. She no longer holds back quiet whimpers when he plays her with most ardent delight, and gives in to pleasure washing over her in waves of fire. The doctor is in no hurry as he saves the memory and taste of his wife for later, memorising her body in the most intimate way. She’s stunning and radiant, he can see her freckles shimmering on satin milky skin, reminding him of many stars gathered in constellations.

“Gil, _please_ ” she breathes. Her chest moves rapidly in some kind of tandem with Gilbert’s tongue. One of his hands slips under hiked nightgown to caress her breasts, as pad of his thumb soothingly strokes either nipple with equal affection, and at a particularly well aimed flick of the tongue a carnal moan leaves the redhead’s lips. It would be better if she was entirely naked, he could have panoramic view of her curves, but Gilbert isn’t selfish enough to deprive his beloved woman of the only one thing that protects her body from crisp breeze. The man adds a little bit of pressure on the reddened nub, spreading the woman’s juices all over her core until she tugs on his locks and pants, her body nearly singing from pleasure.

“You’re so wet, love. So sweet” he murmurs, listening carefully to each whine and groan that guides him in darkness of her body. Anne huffs, frustrated with not enough friction to get her over the edge, but doesn’t rush her husband when he’s certainly having so much fun in between her legs.

“ _Oh, God, more!_ ” Raspy mewl rushing out from her lips, mixed with scent of arousal, immediately sends sparks down Gilbert’s back and straight to his groin, fueling it with renewed portion of lust. The woman forces herself to open eyes just in time to notice mist in the doctor’s dark eyes as he’s grinning smugly. For what seems to be just a minuscule of time they get lost in each other’s faces, both flushed carmine from the heat of moment when it comes to the back of their minds. They’re in the open space, where anyone could see them, and certainly hear. But he’s here with the most stunning woman, and couldn’t care less if they were found, her loving gaze is enough to provide him with needed comfort. _They’ll be alright._

Knowing they’re safer here than in his old bedroom, Gilbert doesn’t stop his mission to turn Anne into a jelly, and slips two fingers into a source of her wet heat. The redhead quivers and gasps quietly, her hips jolt at every brush of fingertips against the sweet spot that makes her curl her toes. This moment is Gilbert’s favourite – the slow prologue to Anne loosing control over her body, her curves arching into his touch as if he was the sculptor and she was his clay. The man keeps on devouring her nub, alternating between sucking and flicking it with his tongue, as he tries to recreate shapes of runes, they guessed earlier, on her clit. He gently presses other hand on her navel, trying to still her a little bit, but at the same time speeds up the rhythm of his fingers working inside of her until her legs start to shudder and Anne curls her hands into fists on a blanket in order to prevent herself from disintegrating.

And then it happens. Simply, her body freezes for a second before her whole being quakes as she moans his name out loud.

Prior to her regaining energy after orgasmic bliss he preppers her abdomen – part of her that once brought them so much joy and then tenfold of sorrow – with featherlike kisses.

“I need you inside of me” she whispers, there’s faint tint of desperate demand in her voice. “Now.”

Gilbert doesn’t know how long they’re in Ruins, but the flames are getting smaller with each minute and soon they’ll be surrounded by darkness, with two lamps as a source of light. He nuzzles into her neck, sucking gently on the porcelain skin with glowing freckles dusted lavishly on it, as his hands knead her breasts through the thin material of nightgown. The woman runs her fingers over his muscles in renewed exploration of his shape, and cups his cheeks pulling the man into a passionate kiss, letting her own slick coat her lips. He rests his forehead on hers as their lips are still brushing, then he smiles blissfully into her mouth.

“You’re so beautiful, Anne” Gilbert mutters breathlessly, each word accenting with a peck.

“And you’re quite pretty, too” the woman chuckles, her fingers are caressing his broad shoulders with well known softness.

The doctor is almost painfully hard already, so he lines his cock with Anne’s drenched entrance and slowly sinks into her, drawing hitched breaths from her lungs. The redhead can feel tiny flames of pleasure licking up her abdomen again, as she lets herself get lost in Gilbert’s embrace. A few beads of sweat appear on his forehead, and the woman uses her thumb to wipe them away, wrapping her legs around his waist.

“Is this alright?” He can’t help, but asks, just to make sure she’s comfortable with everything what’s going on right now. He himself takes a few seconds to understand how they started from seductive teasing, and now are here, in the Ruins, wantonly cramped in compromising position. The woman needs little time to adjust to his length inside of her, as she pulls her husband closer for another kiss, while the sensation of his musky scent gets her dizzy and lustful for him.

“More than” she pants heavily, rolling her hips to make Gilbert move, and he happily obliges lazily pulling his dick in and out of her at steady pace. With one or two slow thrusts she’s nearly writhing on the blanket, arching up to put even more friction in between them, mewling into her husband’s lips. He sets fire to all of her ends, shapes her like wind shapes weak flames, spreads her over the blanket with force similar to sparks starting fire on a desert grass. “Please, Gil.”

His hips snap involuntarily and he sets up a new rhythm, watching as her face goes scarlet, then her lips form into cute O frame. Gilbert mutters incoherent words into her ear, teeth grazing sensitive skin of her neck, head of his cock brushes against her walls, causing his mind to go blank. It’s only Anne he can think of. Only her he can feel. She’s so deliciously alluring, while her loud moans are pushing him further to sweet bliss.

“Honey, you’re so tight and wet.”

“Gil, you are so—I want—” she wants to tell him how good he feels, moving inside of her, but she’s not able to form any sentences. The redhead isn’t far from falling apart as she senses familiar knot tying itself in her lower half. She knows Gilbert’s close too, since his movements become more rapid and quick. “ _More!_ ”

“ _Anne—_ ”

The man practically slams his hips into her, sounds of skin against skin mixed with their harsh moans causes his insides to twist and curl, sending waves of fiery pleasure to his cock. He's watching in awe the tender motion of her hand across his chest, though he knows with every hard thrust Anne's fingertips long to claw and tear his skin apart, dig through the flesh, and root deep into the marrow of his bones, so that they can never be parted. The woman is nearly screaming when he lifts her leg and rests over his shoulder, her nails leave tiny red lines on his back and breast as he drives into her with force that leaves them both breathless.

Anne has vague idea of how quick her body ascends through next levels of pleasure, since she’s lost to Gilbert’s touch. She stares at his strong body coated with sheen layer of sweat, the way he rolls his hips to meet hers, how wrinkles appear on his forehead when he’s moments away from loosing it entirely.

“ _Gil!_ ”

She’s so lost in him, she doesn’t even notice her own orgasm coming. That is until rough scream of his name tears through her throat, her body shudders heavily and she digs her fingers deeper into his skin as she’s falling apart.

“Inside” she commands, guiding his cock back to her pulsing clenching walls, and Gilbert finishes with a few frantic thrusts, spilling his seed inside of her with low grunts drawing air from depths of his lungs. Their whole world shifts on its axis as they count stars in each other’s eyes, their lids heavy from the most intense coupling they have had in months. Neither wishes to shorten the moments of bliss that came after reaching the peak.

“I love you, you wonderful, stunning, alluring woman” he whispers into her temple, when they’re not connected anymore, but keeps her wrapped in his arms, his red plaid jacket covering her back. The braid of copper and flames no longer exists as her hair disengaged itself from neat hairstyle she had been wearing through the day.

“And I love you, you astonishing, bewitching, marvelous man” Anne giggles parroting her husband, nuzzling face into his neck and inhaling musky scent that still surrounds him. The stickiness between her legs reminds her of her own anxiousness, hidden in the back of her mind, only to come back in moments of weakness. There is a possibility she’ll fall pregnant after tonight, but the woman doesn't feel terrified anymore; if anything, she's as much excited as scared. 

Gilbert presses tender kisses over her forehead, commenting on another competition between them, and Anne looks at him with certainty she hasn’t had in a while. Whatever happens, they’re going to be alright.

_It’s the silent promise inside his eyes that keeps her hoping for a kinder future._

**Author's Note:**

> Ekhem, ekhem!
> 
> Hello, Loves!
> 
> I'd like to officially announce that this is the longest one-shot I've ever written. It has been living rent free in my head since June, and I'm happy to share the final effect with you. 
> 
> I hope you're all well and enjoyed this piece here. 
> 
> PS. This is a gift for good guys who vote. (If you voted for T*ump, you don't count as a good guy)
> 
> PPS. If the amount of nature metaphors bothers you, blame 19th century Polish authors.


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